The Rip
by Fallenbelle2
Summary: His gut instinct told him that all was not as it appeared.
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Rip

Author: Fallenbelle

Rating: T for Suggestive Adult Themes

Characters: The entire core MM gang: William Murdoch, Julia Ogden, George Crabtree, Thomas Brackenreid, and Emily Grace. Special visits by Margaret Brackenreid, Henry Higgins, Edna Garrison Brooks, Simon Brooks, Lillian Moss, and Jackson. Who knows who else might make an appearance before this is over? ;)

Genre: Drama/Romance

Summary: His gut instinct told him that all was not as it appeared.

Spoilers: Everything in season 8 is fair game. Do **NOT **read if you don't want to be spoiled for 818, The Artful Detective. Major spoilers from that episode.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters-just having fun, and promise to put them back when I'm done. I'm making no money.

Notes: Title comes from the song of the same name by Portishead-who prove an excellent soundtrack to which one can write MM fic. Thanks to I'dBeDelighted for taking a look at this, and making a few suggestions, but this fic is unbeta'd and all mistakes remain mine alone. This story, while based on the events of 818-The Artful Detective, is pure speculation based on intuition, imagination, and interview with Peter Mitchell about what happen next season. Any similarities are entirely coincidental. I'm trying something new with this fic, and I suppose you'll let me know if it's worth continuing

* * *

George Crabtree sat alone in his cell, with only his thoughts for company. His friends were no more, and he figured that everyone else from the station house was too upset and shocked to see him at the present time, which suited him fine.

Besides, he couldn't bear to see to the combination of pity, disappointment, and shock in the other men's eyes. He was supposed to be affable George, the one you could count on for a supporting hand as well as a laugh to lighten the dark mood. He knew his role, and usually he performed it with aplomb, but not today or ever again for that matter. He was a dead man walking.

The looks of shock and disappointment in the Inspector's eyes had stung, but that had only been a fraction of the pain he felt when he saw the hurt, devastation and betrayal in Detective Murdoch's eyes; despondency writ across his face clearly. It made him feel guilty for this ruse, and he was sorry for the pain he had inflicted upon his old friend. But, it was his duty to protect Edna and Simon, and if this was what was necessary, then he accepted his responsibility without complaint. This was what men did, and he was no longer a boy.

Plus, the solitude gave him time to think about Edna and Simon. Were they safely ensconced where no one would find them as he had told them? Would they remain hidden when Edna realized that George would not be coming as he said he would? Would she figure out that he had instead opted to take the blame for her or Simon, and would she just accept it quietly and seize the second chance at life?

George prayed that she would. He was just sorry that he never had the chance to become a husband or a father, something he had always looked forward to. He thought that he would have been very good at those roles, but he knew that these things were simply not meant to be, and he unflinchingly accepted it, like a man should. Or so he tried, and he hoped he was successful.

However, he could still defend and protect Edna and Simon, something else a man should do, something that Archibald Brooks had never done. He understood why Detective Murdoch had been willing to lay down his life for Dr. Ogden, why he'd willingly suffered as he did. He did it for her, to keep her safe and make her happy-even at his own personal, painful expense. Previously, he'd thought their story tragic, but now he understood exactly why the Detective had made the decisions he'd made: love and honor.

There had been so much he'd hoped to accomplish with his life, so much he still wanted to do, but if there was anything he'd learned from working with William Murdoch after all these years, it was that maintaining your word and protecting those you loved from harm were the ultimate duties you could undertake as a man.

Such was this cruel life. In the end, he stood alone, having been abandoned by all those he'd ever loved, but perhaps facing it alone made the whole burden easier to endure. Or so he consoled himself as a lone tear streaked down his cheek.

* * *

It was late when Thomas Brackenreid staggered up his front steps and opened up the front door, immediately being greeted by Margaret. Before she could begin to harangue him about his late arrival, he put his hand up, stopping her before she could begin.

"Not tonight, Margaret. All right?" he patiently said as he put his hand up, but wordlessly letting her know that while he typically enjoyed their usual theatrics about his late return, tonight was not the night for it as he walked over and poured a large scotch before sitting on the couch and removing his jacket, cravat and unbuttoning his waistcoat.

Knowing her husband as she did, and sensing something was seriously wrong, she didn't say anything about his large drink or his strange behavior, but just sat next to him, hand on his knee.

After several minutes, she braved the question she'd wanted to ask. "What happened, Thomas? Did someone die?"

Taking a liberal sip of his drink, he shook his head. "Worse," he replied.

Margaret laid her head on his shoulder and ran her fingers through his hair, hoping to soothe his agitated state somehow.

* * *

Lillian had held her for several minutes, and silently stroked her hair while they sat there in companionable silence. Their argument about whether or not Emily should accompany her to London temporarily forgotten. But Emily knew her ladyfriend was persistent, and after several minutes of comforting her, Lillian broached the topic again.

"Emily about earlier, I'm hoping that in light of recent events you've reconsidered. Perhaps now you'll consider coming to London with me and actually doing something for the cause instead of remaining here, and that you'll…" Lillian began before Emily cut her off.

"Lillian, not now, all right? I know George Crabtree is just another man and symbol of patriarchal repression to you, but he's none of that to me, Lillian-he's so much better than the caricature you imagine in your mind. He was once my beau, and while things may not have worked out between us-largely because I let him down- he deserves my support and friendship and I'm going to give it to him as I know without a doubt that if the situations were reversed, he'd be doing the same for me. He's a good man, Lillian, not all men are evil-please understand that!" Emily interrupted.

"Well, seeing as you are not in the mood for my companionship or discussion tonight, perhaps I'll leave," Lillian replied.

"Lillian, I may not be in the mood for discussion of weightier topics this evening, but I most definitely need your companionship tonight. I don't want to be alone."

Hearing this, Lillian softened, and gathered Emily's coat and hat. "Let's go home, Emily, and have a nice strong drink, shall we?"

"Thank you for understanding, Lillian."

* * *

As William walked into the suite, coat draped over his arm, Julia immediately came to him, and after seeing the look of desolation on his face, immediately took him into her arms for a comforting embrace. Returning the gesture, he wrapped his arms around her, laying his head against hers for a few brief moments before burying his face in her neck, breathing in her scent and enjoying her warmth. They stood there holding one another for several long minutes before Julia kissed his temple and pulled back.

"Let me draw you a hot bath and have some food sent up."

"No. I'm not hungry…for food, Julia. The bath can wait until later," he stated, hoping she'd catch his meaning.

Nodding, she pulled her hairpins out and laid them onto the table, her hair tumbling down past her shoulders before untucking her blouse from her skirt and unbuttoning it.

Not particularly in the mood for niceties or even his customary romance for that matter, he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her onto the side table, unbuttoning the rest of her blouse with such force and speed, Julia was surprised that he didn't rip the buttons off in the process. Blouse quickly divested, he flung up her skirts and stepped between her legs, where she made quick work of his jacket and vest-pulling his suspenders down with them while he unbuttoned his trousers where they slid to the floor, pooling at his feet.

Sensing his current state of mind and knowing that it matched her own, she fully gave herself over to him-knowing full well what they both needed right now.

"William, please…I'm not a China doll, I won't break. Don't be soft or gentle with me tonight," she implored him.

"I wasn't planning on it," he answered, wrapping her hair around his hand and pulling her head back with it, fully exposing her neck to his teeth and lips.

Julia groaned in anticipation.

* * *

It was late-past midnight., to be exact, and Edna was starting to become worried-George should have been here by now. A couple of days ago he had said he had a couple of matters and some business to handle, and he would join them shortly as soon as he could. Not for the first time in the past couple of days, she had the sneaking suspicion that she was not in possession of the full picture of events.

She glanced at Simon, who was staring out the window of the small cottage George had rented for them. Turning to her he asked, "Something's happened to George, hasn't it?"

What did Simon know? What wasn't she being told? Taking a deep breath, she fought the urge to cry. She'd always strived to be a good person and help others, yet none of that seemed to matter as it hadn't prevented her entire world from crashing down around her through no fault of her own, forcing her to play the victim in a series of unfortunate events.

* * *

Considerably later, Thomas Brackenreid lay sprawled across his bed, Margaret draped over him, wearing only the locket he'd given her on the birth of their first child and wedding ring as their clothes were strewn about the room. For all the times he and his wife argued, disagreed, and bitterly fought, it was moments like this, when he held her in his arms and thought of the fiery moment they had just shared that reminded him why he had married her.

She'd always loved that he was full of piss and vinegar; he'd always loved her tart tongue and her refusal to be afraid of him; to stand up to him regardless of how much he shouted. Because even for all of his bluster and thunder, he'd never wanted a woman who would cower in front of him-he'd wanted a woman who would give him as good as he gave, and he'd found that in Margaret.

Because as much as they loved a good fight (and loved making up afterwards even more), they both knew when not to 'poke the bear' as it were, and accept one another at face value. However, in spite of all of her quiet acceptance and patience, he knew she was most anxiously waiting for an explanation, and knew she would be devastated to learn of George's fate. Hell, he wasn't looking forward to breaking the news to the boys either for that matter. But, his lady deserved the truth, and turning towards her, he took her hands in his and began, hoping that he'd relay the details without breaking down himself.

* * *

As he reclined in the bathtub, he held Julia in his arms, her face turned into his chest as her head lay directly over his heart (her favorite place to be, he'd noticed). Absentmindedly, she lightly traced the scratches along his torso while placing butterfly kisses amidst some of the deeper wounds-not including the scratches that still stung and undoubtedly covered his back. He hoped she felt no guilt at the marks she'd inflicted upon him just now, because he certainly didn't feel any regret or remorse at the teeth marks and love bites along her neck, chest, and torso. Instead, he felt pride at having been the one to make them as well as reflect upon the moments of passion in which they'd been inflicted.

As loathe as he was to get out, the water was rapidly cooling, and besides, William was desperate to show his wife that for all of the raw and primal lust he'd just shown her, he was still capable of being tender and gentle. He wanted to take his wife to bed and show her how reverential he could still be with her.

Besides, being with Julia forced his mind to think only about her, and wouldn't allow him to think about what had happened with George, or how all was not as it appeared with his old friend. Something seemed off to him, but he suppressed these thoughts and coaxed his bride out of the bath before picking her up and carrying her to bed. Tonight, he only wanted to love Julia to the point of exhaustion and tomorrow he would begin a discreet investigation of the case involving his friend.

As his mother used to say, tomorrow was another day, as he proceeded to cover their still damp and rapidly cooling bodies with the blanket before covering Julia's torso with kisses.


	2. Chapter 2

His body having long been trained to wake up at his customary hour, William felt as though he'd been run over by a carriage the following morning. While he'd managed to sleep only a few hours, his exhaustion had insured that what little sleep he'd had was at least solid.

Extracting himself from Julia's embrace without waking her up, William got out of bed and got ready for what would undoubtedly be a long day in front of him. Despite performing his familiar routine, his body protested the simple movements, having been pushed further sexually last night than he had ever gone before.

The marathon lovemaking sessions of last night hadn't been seen since their eventful honeymoon in New York City where he and Julia had locked themselves in the honeymoon suite (finally) and literally did nothing but sleep, make love, and occasionally eat. Never before (not even their wedding night) had William let his reserve down and abandoned himself to the darkest desires of his mind. Never before last night had they ever been so intense and animalistic with one another, and William wondered if it was going to be a one-time thing, or if she'd allow him to be so primeval again.

He hoped so, because he felt strangely alive and energized in a way he had never experienced before. Despite the discomfort of the deep gouges in his back, William decided that he quite liked them, as they made a nice souvenir of last night's events. Looking back at his wife's nude body still snuggly tucked into bed, William decided against waking her, but didn't want to leave her without saying something after one of the most emotionally intense nights of his life. He opted for a brief note and flower from one of the bouquets in the parlor, and laid them on his pillow where she'd be sure to see them when she awoke.

Grabbing his coat and hat, he quietly slipped outside the suite and decided to grab a quick breakfast at the restaurant near the station house. The sooner he figured out what was off about George's case, the sooner the truth would be known.

And if anyone was a slave to the truth, it was he. For better, or for worse.

* * *

Much later that morning, he sat at his desk, examining the evidence and crime scene photos for George's case. He didn't have a theory so much right now as he did a hunch, and he was waiting for the articles to speak to him, to reveal the truth as they often did.

Lost in contemplation, he didn't hear the Inspector come in some time later, who also regarded the photos and objects with a skeptical eye.

Startled at the man's sudden appearance, William snapped out of his reverie.

"I'm sorry sir, did you say something?"

"Some things never change, do they Murdoch?" he replied with a snort.

Brief smiles crossed their eyes for a few seconds before the tenor of the situation reasserted itself, and both men became serious again.

"I don't know what precisely, but something isn't adding up, sir. The whole thing just seems off, but I can't quite put my finger on it right now." William explained.

"Have you tried speaking with him again?" Brackenreid asked.

William nodded, "Yes, sir. I tried about an hour ago, but he wouldn't even look at me, just turned his back and refused to make eye contact or respond to my pleas. There's something he's not being straightforward about, and I need to know what he's hiding. I suspect he's covering up for Edna or Simon, taking the fall as it were. Jackson said they were called over to a domestic disturbance at her house a day before Sgt. Brooks was killed. Perhaps one of them killed him, and George is protecting them."

"What makes you think this? Has it occurred to you that as unthinkable as it is, maybe Crabtree did knock off Brooks?" Brackenreid asked.

"Sir, George has been an indispensable assistant to me for years. He's seen firsthand how people have been incriminated and caught as well as how people have managed to evade justice. He's also been a good detective in his own right for quite a while sir, and I just can't help but think that George would know how not to be caught, or at least caught so easily. Leaving his police issue boots covered in blood where we could easily find them along with a bloodtrail? Leaving the murder weapon where it could be easily found? It makes no sense! Plus, while we know he won't say anything to exonerate himself, perhaps he isn't saying anything so that he doesn't remove himself from suspicion, thus shifting it to someone else he's trying to protect," said William.

"As much as I dislike saying this, what if Crabtree is choosing the best option? What if Mrs. Brooks or the boy did it, and to him this is the lesser of evils? Will we truly be doing Crabtree any favors if we exonerate him just to implicate one of them? Think about your past situations, and imagine if the tables were turned: What if Dr. Ogden had been knocked around by Garland and she offed him in self-defense? Would you have truly, willingly allowed her to go through a trial?" Brackenreid asked.

William paled at the memory, and clenched his fists in anger. "Sir…need I remind you that Julia was tried for the murder of her husband, and was erroneously found guilty?"

Brackenreid laughed. "And how well did you handle that? Damn near got yourself killed and took us down with you. I know you want the truth, and so do I for that matter, but be careful where you tread. Know that George has his reasons for doing what he did, much like you did."

Murdoch stared at the man, anger clear in his eyes before sighing and turning to look out the window.

Point made, Brackenreid relented. "Look, Murdoch, before I've given you a hard time about your inability to just let things be and accept them at face value, but this time, I want you to be a bulldog. Don't let go, me old mucker. Get to the bottom of this, but tread carefully, if you know what I mean. Respect what Crabtree's trying to do."

"I will do my absolute best, sir. I…I just wish George would speak with me, tell me what's really going on. At least it would give me something to go on. Right now, I have nothing," William admitted.

"If anyone's going to get to the bottom of this, you will, Murdoch. You find Mrs. Brooks and the boy-they're the key to cracking this thing wide open, and no doubt Crabtree's hidden them well. In the meantime, I'm going to call my contacts in the army-something seems off about Sgt. Brooks' resurrection from the dead after a year of no contact with his loved ones. If I'd been him, I would have been sending letters, telegrams, smoke signals, you name it to get word to my family. Just the other day you were endangered for less than 10 minutes and you made it a priority to let your wife know that you were safe after all was said and done. Why didn't Brooks do something similar?" Brackenreid wondered.

William nodded in agreement. "I concur," he trailed off as he saw Julia standing in the doorway.

Following the younger man's gaze, Brackenreid smirked. "I'll let you two get on with it," he laughed. "See if Dr. Ogden will assist you. She might be able to use her womanly intuition and psychiatric skills to gain insight on this mess and get into some places that a man or a cop can't. That is, presuming you'll still allow her to," he cheekily added as he left before Julia could turn her fury upon him. He was adept at handling his own firebrand of a wife, but when it came to Dr. Ogden, Murdoch knew best.

Staring at the Inspector's back as he left, Julia shook her head. There had been a time when she would have come undone at such a comment, but now she could let it go and merely shook her head.

"I came to see how you were doing this morning, and wondered if I might be able to spirit you away for an early lunch where we could discuss George's case. I keep thinking back to what he said last night as well as his behavior, and something's not adding up, William. In fact, it's hardly a confession at all, and I think…" Julia began before she was interrupted.

"I know. That's just what the Inspector and I were just talking about. We're going to look into this further, Julia. I'm not accepting anything at face value." William finished.

Julia shook her head. "You mean we're not accepting anything at face value. I've made arrangements to go into the asylum and complete my rounds early each morning so that I'm free to help you with the investigation the rest of the day for as long as it takes. I won't take no for an answer, and besides, even the Inspector thinks I'll be of assistance to you."

William had to concede she had a point, and he was just relieved that she wasn't too upset at him for being too rough last night as well abruptly leaving this morning. As much as he had enjoyed loving her with complete abandon, a part of him feared that his dark side had frightened her.

"Besides, you're already in hot water for leaving without saying goodbye this morning. After what we shared last night, you don't think that I really would have wanted to wake up in my husband's arms? Maybe even needed it?" Julia asked.

"Julia, I didn't want to wake you, you looked so peaceful, plus, you needed the rest-I know I would have welcomed it."

"I know, William. You were also eager to get in and reexamine the evidence, and I think you were also a little afraid to face me this morning. I believe that you're worried that you may have frightened me last night," Julia continued.

William smiled, and blushed before looking down at the floor. As usual, she could read his mind even better than he could at times.

"William, we've talked about this. You needn't be ashamed of your sexual desires; they're a natural part of being human. Besides, I've been waiting for you to drop all of your reservations and truly let go for months now. I knew that somewhere inside was a man dying to abandon all restraint in love, and last night, I finally got to meet him," Julia reassured him.

"The darker places of my mind don't frighten you? Truly? Some of my desires are less than honorable, but you must know that I would never hurt you."

"I know you'd never hurt me, and those "dark" places as you call them don't frighten me-they intrigue me. They're a part of you, and I love all of you. Last night was amazing, and was exactly what I needed, but perhaps we don't always have to be so violent with one another?" she asked.

Laughing softly, he took her in his arms and just enjoyed the sublime sensation of simply holding her. Kissing her nose, he released her and gathering their things, they went off to lunch.

* * *

At lunch, they laid out the facts as they knew them: Sgt. Brooks had unexpectedly returned from the dead, he'd later roughed up Edna according to the police reports, and then his body had appeared in the morgue. George Crabtree was _too _obvious a suspect, and Edna Brooks and Simon were nowhere to be found. If George _had_ killed Archibald Brooks in retaliation, why had Edna and Simon fled? If they were truly innocent, there would have been no need to escape, and that was only one of the things that had bothered Murdoch. That, and perhaps the biggest problem: William truly believed that George Crabtree was no killer. He knew George must have been heartbroken over the sudden "loss" of his fiancée, and was undoubtedly devastated, but William couldn't see how George would have resorted to murder. He'd known and worked with him for years and this was the man who had once been upset that dogs were being used for medical experiments. William couldn't fathom how that same man could make the leap to murder.

He said as much to Julia, and she agreed. After lunch they'd gone to the purported crime scene, which also happened to be the Brooks' apartment. While the apartment appeared to be in a state of disarray, making it appear as though a violent struggle had occurred, it seemed off to William. Other than a few upended chairs, it didn't seem that off-kilter, and considering a murder had purportedly taken place here, William thought that quite interesting.

As Julia went back to the bedroom to note anything of interest, Murdoch stared at the bloodstain on the floor. Though George's boot track was still clearly evident, there was something a bit strange about the bloodstain. He had a hunch, but he always welcomed the expert medical opinion of his wife.

"Julia! Can you come here please?"

"Coming, William," she called from the bedroom and soon, she was crouching next to him, looking at the bloodstain.

"Is this all? Given Sgt. Brooks' multiple wounds, I would have expected far more blood and blood spatter than this," she pronounced, looking around to see if there was an as of yet undiscovered blood spatter scene. She found none.

She continued. "It's too neat, it's as though someone poured blood from a container and stepped in it to give the impression that this was a crime scene."

"It's strange, isn't it?" he asked her.

Nodding, she placed her hand on his arm. "William, I searched the bedroom, Edna and Simon left in quite a hurry; they must have packed only the barest of essentials. They must have been fleeing for their lives, or they weren't planning on being gone long. Unlike the parlor, nothing in the bedrooms seems to have been disturbed. Nothing's out of place. Unlike this room, which seems staged, and I don't think that this is our crime scene. In fact, I'd be interested to know if this blood is even human," she added.

"So would I, Julia," he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive headache coming on. The emotional events of the last day, his prolonged exertions with Julia the previous night, lack of sleep, combined with the feeling that he was about to kick a hornet's nest were all taking a toll on him. Removing his handkerchief, he took a sample of the bloodstain to take to Dr. Grace for testing.

Standing back up to full height, he took Julia's arm and locked the apartment up behind him. He needed to find if Mrs. Brooks or the boy had any relatives locally that might have knowledge of their whereabouts. He hoped George hadn't hidden them too well, and he hoped to learn something to use as leverage to make George talk soon. He wanted to help his friend, but he also had to know the truth. He hoped that he could handle it, and that he wouldn't regret not leaving things alone as Isaac Tash had once warned him so long ago.

Back at the station, he drew the shades of his office, and led Julia to the corner of his office where a comfortable reclining chair he occasionally slept in was placed. Sitting down, he pulled Julia into his lap and pushed the chair into the reclining position, quickly closing his eyes. He hoped a quick nap would help him function again. There was so much to do, and he couldn't think straight enough to decide what his next step should be.


	3. Chapter 3

After he woke up from his brief nap (Julia wasn't tired-she'd merely watched him sleep-not for the first time envying his long eyelashes), William checked with the constables to see if they were able to turn up any clues on whether or not George or Edna had family nearby that might be hiding or at least have knowledge of possible locations where George might have hidden Mrs. Brooks and Simon. Not surprisingly, with the exception of his mother, George did not have any family locally, and the constables were still interviewing Mrs. Brooks' family and acquaintances to see if they knew where she might have gone. Nothing useful had as of yet been turned up.

Together, he and Julia examined the evidence pertaining to George's case, including the contents of his desk. Most of the desk contents included the average detritus one might expect to find in a desk such as candy wrappers, old pencils, used nibs for fountain pens, etc. Also found were a collection of scandalous post cards of very attractive women in seductive poses with titillating captions underneath.

Without realizing what he was doing, Julia caught William perusing and admiring the pictures for longer than a brief, cursory glance, and stood there smirking until he realized that she noticed what he was doing.

Embarrassed (and afraid of her anger), William blushed and made a move towards the wastebasket with the cards. "I don't believe these are of evidentiary value," he informed her.

Laughing, she took the cards from his hands, looking at the cards herself. "Are you sure, William? Perhaps they are at least of entertainment value to others-including yourself."

Sighing, he knew he'd been caught and wasn't going to be let off the hook so easily. "Julia, you have nothing to fear from these pictures. Between these ladies and you, there's no contest," he desperately tried to convince her.

It was true, he may have enjoyed looking at such pictures as a single man, but it had been merely a sin to desire and know these women who would never be his wife in such a way back then. Now, it was still a sin, but also disrespectful to his wife. He knew that if the tables were turned, he would not care for Julia looking at and admiring the nearly nude bodies of other men.

"I know you can't help it William, it's a natural reaction. As I've told you before, your sexual desires are not perverse or ungodly-God gave you those desires, William. How else would the species have replicated itself for all of these years? Besides, I happen to know that you've always rather enjoyed a pretty package and you're quite easily distracted by such," she reminded him.

"Perhaps," he admitted. "But there's no prettier package than you, none so intriguing, fascinating, or arousing," he conceded to her with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Giggling and batting her eyelashes at him, she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss. "Still, William. I'm curious. Are these captions really that stimulating? I can understand why the pictures might be, but the text seems rather ridiculous."

"For some, perhaps. But the text has never been the popular draw-the images themselves are the primary reason men buy those cards," he granted.

For a brief moment she looked at the cards in her hands and then glanced up at Constables Higgins and Jackson with what William could only describe as an evil grin crossing her face, before her expression quickly sobered. "Perhaps we'll return these to the box, and we'll let George decide what he wants to do with them," she yielded, remembering why they were going through the contents of George's desk in the first place.

For the remainder of the afternoon, William and Julia examined the articles and discussed the facts, writing down pertinent details on his blackboard as well as a rudimentary timeline. Even with his nap, William's lack of sleep was clearly affecting his progress, and at 6pm, the Inspector came in and told him to go home-his exhaustion evident to all.

Despite his condition, William protested. But both Julia and the Inspector were adamant: there wasn't much else he could do today, and he would function much better after a good night's rest. The last 24 hours had been emotionally draining, and William wasn't his normal, ultra-perceptive self.

Conceding that both the Inspector and Julia were right, he and Julia gathered their things and returned to their suite. There, they dined on a light supper and Julia drew him another bath-in which he insisted she join him. Though his ardor was as strong as it ever was for her, neither was in the mood for a physical demonstration thereof this evening, and they immediately retired to bed, both still recovering from the previous evening's activities. Under the covers, Julia coaxed him over until his head lay upon her bosom, stroking his brow and hair until he fell into a deep sleep. Which happened rather quickly as it turned out.

* * *

As the night bled into the dawn of the next day, Edna's fear grew stronger. She couldn't dismiss the feeling that something had happened to George as a silly, unfounded fear anymore. He'd given his word that he would come here for them soon, and that was three days ago.

As the dawn became morning proper, she watched the world come to life. Morning had been one her favorite times of day as a child. She'd loved the promise of adventures new as well as the hope that anything could happen in a single day.

She laughed bitterly. Anything could happen and had happened in a single day. In the span of one particular day, she'd become the future Mrs. George Crabtree, and by the end of that same day, she'd reverted to being Mrs. Archibald Brooks again. The next day, said husband had beaten her for refusing his advances, and accused her of being a whore in his absence. Then he'd stormed off in a huff, and George had come back to her, giving her money as well as directions to a place to hide for the next several days. It was hard to believe that this had all happened less than a week ago and not for the first time, her mind swam at the stunning speed everything had happened.

But this didn't allay her immediate and pressing concern of George's safety. She feared Archie had hurt George or something even worse in retribution for sending her and Simon away. It wasn't like George not to keep his promise, and she grew increasingly concerned by the hour as the morning wore on. She wanted to go back to Toronto, find out what had happened to George and try to patch things up with her husband. Simon deserved his father, and she'd promised long ago to do right by the boy regardless of what it cost her. But she'd promised George that she would stay until he came for her. She was at a loss.

Wincing in disappointment at the broken promise, she could take the uncertainty no more. At first, she called George's apartment repeatedly, never getting an answer. At shortly past nine, and in desperation, she called station house #4, desperate to know something, anything. Reaching Constable Higgins, she pleaded to speak with George, embarrassed to be bothering him at work.

There was a slight pause, before Higgins informed her that George Crabtree was no longer with the Toronto Constabulary.

"I see," she barely whispered in response, stifling a sob. Apologizing for bothering him, Edna was about to disconnect the call, when Higgins asked her to please wait.

A few brief moments later, another man came onto the line.

"Mrs. Brooks, it's Detective Murdoch. Where are you? It's imperative that I speak with you at once."

Edna paused. She'd also promised George that in addition to staying hidden, she'd also tell no one of her or Simon's current location, but sensing the concern in her reticent pause, the detective implored her to let him know where she was. She'd also remembered all of the stories George had shared of the detective, and the high degree of respect and esteem in which he held the man, and knew that if she were going to trust anyone, William Murdoch would be the one to trust. Pushing away the guilt at breaking yet another promise to George, she gave him the pertinent information as well as a time, and ended the call, waiting for the detective's visit.

Her worst fears had been confirmed: something had befallen George.

* * *

As soon as he'd hung up the phone, William immediately called his wife informing her that he would not be able to meet for lunch-he'd call later on his way back into town. Grabbing his hat and coat, he grabbed his bike and pedaled as fast as he could for Union Station-if he hurried, he could make the 9:42 train for Mimico.

Shortly past 11:00 am, William met Edna Brooks at a park not far from the train station. Wearing a large hat with wide brim that was perhaps more suitable for summer and keeping the sun off her face, she took care to avoid people, and once William saw the garish bruises of blues and purples that were only now beginning to fade to yellow and green around the edges, he understood why: she was still reluctant for others to see her battered face. William bet that her arms and hands -concealed with coat and gloves-told a similar story. Pushing down his rage, he did his best to school his face into a calm passivity. He abhorred men who were violent with women, and thought that if George had indeed killed Archibald Brooks, perhaps the homicide was indeed justifiable. He typically disapproved of the common man taking the law into their own hands, but even William conceded that the law was often too tolerant of such cases of domestic violence. He'd seen it happen too many times in his experience as a lawman.

It was only one of the reasons he wholeheartedly supported Julia in her quest for equality, despite the risks and danger in which she sometimes put herself.

Walking around the park, William thought that he'd begin by seeing what Edna Brooks knew-which wasn't much as it turned out. Her husband had beaten her, George had gotten wind of it, and sent her and Simon away for a few days until it was safe for them to return-which was three days ago. She'd become concerned when George hadn't contacted or visited as he said he would, and had broken her promise not to contact anyone that morning when she called the station. Situation wise, she was in the dark and was desperate for news of George's safety and her husband's whereabouts.

William studied her for a minute, and he knew she was telling the truth. She didn't know about the death of her husband (a confirmed fact this time) or about George's alleged role in his murder. Sighing, he took her arm and carefully led her across an icy path to a secluded bench. He was not looking forward to being the one to tell her about the events of the past few days.

* * *

Late that afternoon on the train back to the city, William mulled over the details he'd just learned. Mrs. Brooks and her son were already in Mimico at the approximate time when Sgt. Brooks was estimated to have been killed, and Mrs. Brooks had given details about the train they had taken and the carriage driver that had met them at the station to take them to an isolated lake cottage. She accepted her husband's death calmly, but was inconsolable when she learned that George was awaiting trial and prosecution for his murder. It seemed that she couldn't accept that George had done such a thing, and William sympathized, as he couldn't either.

After he had insisted that she take all the money he had on his person (save for enough for his return train ticket) with the promise to send more shortly, he also gave her the pseudonym of Betty White, and told her to contact only him at the station house or at the hotel as well as Julia's contact information at the asylum in case he couldn't be reached. William wasn't convinced that she was in danger, but if George had gone to this much trouble to hide her and Simon, the least he could do was look after her for his old friend. Besides, he was just returning the favor as George had often looked out for Julia when he wasn't around for varying reasons.

While he was in Mimico, he'd also corroborated Mrs. Brooks' and Simon's accounts of what had transpired, and just as he suspected, they checked out: the train staff remembered her bruised face and nervous demeanor and easily directed him to the carriage driver who shared a similar account of events.

William had hoped that Mrs. Brooks and Simon would hold the key to exonerating George, but it seems that he would have to take a different route. Not only did they fail to provide the missing information he needed, they raised a nagging problem: if they hadn't killed Sgt. Brooks, who did? That made George the prime suspect once again, and William didn't know if he could accept that. Still, he figured that he might still be able to make George talk and get the break he needed.

If he were armed with the correct information, that was.


	4. Chapter 4

Random question: Does anyone else read the dialogue in the character's voices?

* * *

Some time later, William returned to station house #4. He immediately went to the Inspector's office to inform him of the latest information, but the man's door was closed and he was on the phone. Making eye contact with the man through the window, the Inspector waved him off and William nodded in response. He knew where to find him when he was free.

Walking back into his office and closing the door, he picked up the phone for a call of his own-to the asylum where he hoped Julia would still be. Sadly, he'd missed her at lunch because of his unexpected trip to Mimico, and as maudlin as it seemed, he missed her. As she had left early to complete her rounds so that she could leave at lunch and assist him, it was his turn to be asleep when she left, and wake up alone this morning. He better understood the disappointment she'd felt the other morning upon waking up alone, and marveled at how just a few short months of marriage had changed him, perhaps even made him a bit softer in more ways than one he thought, poking his mid-section that wasn't quite as trim as it had once been when he was living at Mrs. Kitchen's. No doubt he was eating better these days, but perhaps he had better eat less well lest he begin looking like the Inspector.

Unfortunately, Julia was gone for the day, according to the nurse. Disappointed, he shifted his thoughts to what he was going to tell George, how he was going to use the information he'd learned today to convince his friend that he was protecting someone who was already cleared from official suspicion-that it was in his best interests to come clean.

At that moment, the Inspector burst into his office and closed the door behind him.

"Did you have a productive trip me old mucker?" Brackenreid asked.

"I did indeed, sir. Mrs. Brooks didn't know about the death of her husband, and during the time he was purportedly killed, her and Simon's alibis are solid. The train staff and carriage driver all remembered her bruised face vividly. Neither one could have done it, sir, which puts us back at George," Murdoch said, making a face.

"You still don't think he did it?" Brackenreid asked.

William shook his head, "No, sir, I still don't. I know I've got to consider the possibility, but my gut is telling me he didn't. There's more than meets the eye, here, sir."

Brackenreid snorted, "I agree. I was on the phone with my army contacts just now. Brooks deserted his unit 10 months ago, while he was recuperating from his wounds received in a barrage at the battle of Leliefontein. Somehow, that desertion got turned into being listed as missing, presumed dead in the labrynthian, bureaucratic quagmire of the Royal Army. All was well and quiet until Sgt. Brooks mysteriously returns to Toronto, back from the dead a few days ago. They said that if they'd known he was back, they would have tried him for desertion. They were as surprised as poor Crabtree and Mrs. Brooks that he had returned."

William made another face and walked over to the box of evidence, removing the gun he'd found in George's desk, examining it. Operating on a solid night's sleep, he saw the weapon with fresh eyes. He hadn't noticed it before, but it looked brand new; clean and shiny actually, and it was almost as if it had never been fired.

Turning it over in his hands, he realized that as George had brought the body in, there were at present no casings found at the scene to compare bullets fired from the gun to. Trust George to have thought of that, but had he realized or remembered in his frantic haste that there might possibly still be one or more bullets in Brooks' body for comparison?

Looking up at the Inspector, they both smirked at one another as William stepped back over to the phone to call the morgue to see if Dr. Grace had retrieved any bullets from the body.

* * *

As it turns out, most of his multiple wounds had been through and through, but one bullet had been pulled from the body, though it was rather damaged. Still, there were enough marks on the bullet to where William thought he might be able to determine whether or not it matched one fired from the gun found in George's desk. After test-firing the evidence weapon, William was just about to compare the bullets when Julia came in, bursting with news.

"William, I went around and spoke with the Brooks' neighbors-particularly the ones who reported the domestic dispute. None of them heard any gunshots or a dispute that would have accounted for the state in which the apartment was found. As I was visiting, I could hear what was going on in neighboring apartments, the walls are quite thin. William, I believe them, there's no way they wouldn't have heard a murder in their midst," she excitedly told him.

Taking a deep breath, William nodded. It was certainly nice to have independent confirmation from a person whose opinion he trusted and was second to no man, but the man in him didn't approve of his beautiful wife going around unescorted in a tenement.

The look on his face must have shown his displeasure because his perceptive wife immediately picked up on it.

"William, surely you're not upset that I went without you, are you? I told you that I was going to assist you every afternoon on this case, and that's what I'm doing. Surely you're not becoming the Inspector in expecting me to seek your permission on everything," she answered.

"Would it matter if I'd said no?" William asked with trepidation. He was risking a fight with those words.

"Would you have?" Julia asked, her body stiffening in anger.

Relenting and wrapping his arms around her, he breathed in her scent before continuing. "No, I wouldn't have refused-not that you would have listened anyway, but I would have voiced my concerns about your safety, as I'm doing now. I don't like the idea of you being unescorted in that part of town, Julia. It's not safe. At the very least, you could have been attacked and robbed."

Her body relaxed, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing behind his ear, a particularly sensitive spot of his that she often used when she wanted to get him to relent. It was then that William knew that he had successfully avoided a perilous confrontation that he didn't want to have at this time or any other time for that matter.

"I know you worry about my safety William, which is the only reason why I'm even entertaining this conversation. I certainly wasn't flashing large amounts of jewelry or money around, and I would never have gone by myself at night. Besides, most of the men were at work and the ones who weren't were far too drunk and feeble to bother me," she added, alluding to his unspoken fear.

Taking her hands and looking her squarely in the eyes, he explained his deepest fear, "Julia, if _anything_ were to happen to you, it would absolutely _ruin_ me."

Squeezing his hands in response, she nodded, "I know, William. I feel the same way, which is why I assure you I will always exercise the utmost caution when I enter such situations. I know that I'm no longer the only person my actions impact, but you must promise me that you understand that it's the same situation for you. You don't belong entirely to yourself anymore either, William."

Smiling, he brought her hands to his lips for a kiss. "I know, Mrs. Murdoch. I belong to you now, and I must admit, I'm still quite ecstatic about it."

Her giggle raised his spirits. "Likewise, William, likewise," she agreed, taking his lips for a brief kiss. She certainly would have liked for it to have lasted longer, but it was still a workday and they both definitely still had work to do. Still, she was definitely looking forward to that stiff drink she was going to enjoy back at the suite.

"What are you doing now, William?" she asked.

"Well, I'm about to compare these two bullets, and I was wondering if I could ask you to bother Dr. Grace about the blood sample taken from the Brooks' residence-is it human or animal, and is there anything else you can discern from it? I don't think she's done it yet as she's been busy trying to finalize all of the autopsy reports of the game contestants," he informed her.

Smiling, she nodded. "She certainly has her hands full, I'll go down and see if I can't help her and even perform the test myself. A detective I once worked with explained it to me, and even showed me how it was done."

"Did he now? Is this a romantic rival I need to be concerned about?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"I'm afraid so, husband. Even after all these years, he still takes my breath away," she supplied, kissing him soundly one final time before taking the blood sample and making her way down to the morgue.

Laughing, he watched her head for the morgue. He hated to see her go, but he loved watching her leave. The swing of her hips and backside could captivate him for years.

In fact, it already had. Shaking his head to clear it of off-task thoughts, he resumed his task of comparing the bullets. He prayed that he wouldn't find a match.

* * *

Walking into the morgue, Julia noticed her friend hunched over her desk, furiously writing. Standing at the entrance to her office, she waited for Emily to notice and acknowledge her before bothering her. Writing a single autopsy report could be odious and tedious, and the fact that she had been writing several may not have her in the best of moods. Looking around with a smile upon her face, she remembered the years she had spent in here proving herself as Emily now did. This had been her first position as a physician, but not her first encounter with stodgy males who defended their superiority and privilege with discrimination, lies, and assuming credit for her work.

It was also where she first met William; a man she quickly discovered was not like all the other men. Experiencing some of that same discrimination himself on account of his religion, he'd immediately seen what she dealt with on a daily basis and being the gentleman he was, did his best to respect and support her as best he could. He'd quickly become a friend and it wasn't long before those thoughts had turned to something deeper on her part. Unfortunately, as he'd been engaged when they first met, it took him longer to reciprocate those feelings, and it was here in this very morgue, where they'd flirted and eventually fallen in love.

It had been a long and difficult path, but they were finally together, and they were happy. Snapping out of her reverie, she realized that Emily was now staring at her, with a big smile on her own face.

"Good afternoon, Julia."

"Good afternoon, Emily. Have you dug your way out of the quagmire yet?"

"Almost, I have one report left after this one, and then I'm done with our players from that most dangerous game."

"Excellent, anything I can help you with?" Julia asked.

Emily shook her head. "Sadly, no. Did the detective send you to check on the blood testing he requested yesterday?"

Julia laughed out loud. Emily had always been able to see straight to the heart of the matter. "Not exactly. He knows your priority was wrapping up the cases from the game. I came to see if I could help."

"You can perform the test yourself. You know where everything is," Emily offered.

"I believe I will. Thank you," Julia replied, turning towards the workbench with a flounce.

Laughing, Emily shook her head and went back to her reports. Despite what Lillian had said against marriage, it clearly looked good on Julia, who had the glow and happiness of being a woman who was well loved. Although she couldn't see it herself, apparently the detective really was quite the romantic behind closed doors.

Speaking of romance, perhaps if she were lucky she'd get out of here at a decent enough hour this evening to spend some time with Lillian.

* * *

Some time later, Julia stepped back from the workbench, excited that her and William's hunch had been right: the purported crime scene had been staged! Julia had performed the test twice to be sure, but the test was conclusive-the blood found at the Brooks' apartment was indeed animal and not human; meaning that the blood at the apartment and on George's boots was not that of Archibald Brooks.

Confirming that the apartment was not the scene of the crime was a step towards exonerating George for murder, but proving that the gun found in George's desk was not used in Sgt. Brooks' murder would conclusively demonstrate (at least for the present) that George had not committed the murder, but it did leave him guilty of being an accessory after the fact. But as William had just cleared Mrs. Brooks and her son earlier that afternoon, it begged the question: Who had killed Sgt. Brooks if George had not?


	5. Chapter 5

George Crabtree had asked for some paper and pen, and had begun to write his final letters. The Crown Prosecutor would be coming by tomorrow, and George intended to plead guilty, leaving no room for any changes to his plan with a complicated trial. In return for his full confession, he would ask for a swift date with the executioner, meaning he would be long dead and buried before anyone might trace the murder back to Edna or Simon. Hopefully.

He had already decided that he wanted to save his letter for Edna last, in which he would explain how the past few months had been the happiest of his life, and why he did what he did and how she could repay his act by being happy-that was all he asked. Thus, his first letter was for his beloved aunts, expressing his undying gratitude to them for their love and kindness, for being the mothers he would otherwise never have had, and for making him the man he was today. He didn't explain that he was confessing to a murder he hadn't committed, but he did ask them to know all was not as it appeared and he had noble reasons for doing what he did.

His second letter was to Higgins, reminding him to remember him as he was before everything happened and acknowledging him for being a true friend for all of these years. Next, he wrote to the Inspector, thanking him for being a mentor and for giving him the opportunities to grow both personally and professionally. He also mentioned that he regretted that he had let Station House #4 down with his actions, and for that, he was truly sorry.

Speaking of regrets, he stared at the blank paper meant for his letter to the Detective. This letter was proving to be as difficult to write as the one for Edna. He supposed he could express his eternal gratitude to the detective for being the older brother he'd never had, and for showing him what it meant to behave with honor and bravery, even when you were terrified or were feeling anything but honorable inside. But would the man ever understand that he had been a role model for him? Would Detective Murdoch even care what he had to say after he had betrayed his hard won trust?

Putting the pen down, George ran his hands through his hair and stood up to pace the cell. He knew that what he was doing was the correct and honorable thing, but his heart still cried out at the unfairness of it all. In moments of weakness such as these, he wondered if he was strong enough to stay the course. He prayed that he could, and hoped that his date with the executioner came much sooner rather than later. He didn't know how long his nerves could stand waiting to die.

Not for the first time, he choked back a sob, feeling it burn in his throat. He supposed that he now knew what it felt like for soldiers going off to certain death in battle; he wasn't ready to die, but had come to terms with his fate. But that didn't mean that he was excited about it.

The books, plays, romances, poems, war novels, and penny dreadfuls had it all wrong: there was nothing gallant or beautiful about death.

* * *

Though it was late in the day and almost time to go home (Margaret was making Yorkshire pudding tonight and he didn't want to miss it), he knew his people must have caught a big break when they excitedly called him over to Murdoch's office.

In their excitement, Doctors Ogden and Grace as well as Detective Murdoch were using lots of big words and names that sounded foreign, and quite frankly the lot of them were giving him a headache. But even through his annoyance, he knew it had to be important if they were that worked up over what they had found.

"One at a time, and small words please. You high-forehead types are acting like a gaggle of geese before a storm. What the bloody hell are you trying to tell me?" he queried.

Ever the gentleman, William slightly bowed and gestured toward the ladies.

* * *

George had put the letters away for now, hoping more appropriate words would come later that night or tomorrow. Instead, he read the Bible, particularly the Gospel of Luke, where Jesus prayed at Mount Olive, accepting his fate and destiny, yet still asking for the burden to removed if it be the Lord's will. George had read the passage countless times, and had always thought it poignant, but he had never identified with it as strongly as he did now.

Reflecting upon the similarities between him and Christ, George was soon startled by the outer door being flung open, and several sets of footsteps clicking on the concrete, where they stopped in front of his cell.

Turning around to see who it was, he was shocked to see the Inspector, Detective Murdoch, and Doctors Ogden and Grace. Taking a set of keys from his pocket, Detective Murdoch opened his cell door and stepped inside.

"To the interrogation room now, George. All is not what you believe it to be."

"If I refuse?" George asked?

Stepping inside the cell with the detective and himself, the Inspector answered, "Then Murdoch and I here will have to carry you ourselves. It's not a request, Sunshine."

Nodding, George got off his bunk and acquiesced to their demand, following them to the interrogation room, dreading what was about to happen. He didn't know if he was strong enough to withstand another round of impassioned pleas from the Inspector and Detective Murdoch.

Seated in the interrogation room, the three men stared at one another, at a seeming impasse. Murdoch had hoped that curiosity would get the better of the younger man, and he would ask why he was here, but it appeared that he was still insistent on maintaining silence, keeping his cards close to this chest.

Very well, he'd open this questioning. "George, aren't you curious as to why you've been called here? Why we're questioning you once again?"

George tried hard to school his face into passivity, but Murdoch could read the inquisitiveness in his eyes. However, Crabtree remained silent.

Pushing his chair back in frustration, Murdoch stood up and looked out of the window. Julia and Dr. Grace stood there, curious to see how this played out. In addition, Julia smiled and nodded, encouraging him to keep going.

She was right, this was no hardened thug; this was affable George, who truly believed that he was acting in the best interests of the woman he loved. Sighing, he turned around and decided that he was going to go all in, but not all at once, he wanted to know what George knew or at least what he thought he knew.

Taking a deep breath, William began. "George, it's been a very interesting past few days around here-especially for me. First of all, I was an unwitting contestant in a blood sport, and someone tried to kill me in front of my wife. Then one of my closest friends was implicated in a murder that I don't think he committed."

George's eyes widened at that last remark, but he quickly recovered, his face once again a mask of stoicism.

"Of course, once I recovered from my shock, I had to investigate. My instincts were telling me that all was not as it appeared, something more was going on, and that's where I need your help, George. I need to know who killed Sgt. Archibald Brooks so that the wrong man isn't convicted of a crime he didn't commit. I've found Mrs. Brooks and Simon, or rather she found me. She was desperate for word on you, she didn't know what was going on, didn't know her husband was actually dead this time, and was devastated to learn that you were currently in jail for his murder."

William paused, watching the reaction on George's face. It was a combination of anger and fear, and William decided to quickly allay the man's concerns.

"She told me that you sent them to a small lake cottage in Mimico, and I went there to speak with her myself. I've interviewed them, and as it turns out, they have solid alibis that check out. They couldn't have committed the murder, George, so you're not protecting them. Your silence is not doing her nor yourself any favors. I've compared the gun found in your desk to a bullet found in Sgt. Brooks' body, they're not a match. The bullet didn't come from your gun, and their apartment wasn't the crime scene was it, George? The blood stain there and on your police issue boots isn't human-it's from a pig," William finished.

Sitting back, he looked at George's face, a mixture of varying emotions, waiting for George to understand all of the new information he'd just been given.

Abruptly standing up, George paced the interrogation room, trying to get a handle on what he'd just learned. Turning to look at William, George had a wild look of desperation in his eyes. Murdoch knew he was debating whether or not he could trust his secret to him, and Murdoch knew it was time to get personal.

As if this case had ever been anything but.

Taking a deep breath, William went for broke. "George, this is me to whom you are speaking. You've known me for years, and you know my history. You know what I've gone through to be with Dr. Ogden. You know the agony, waiting, frustration, and desperation I've felt over the years. Your situation may not be exactly the same as mine, but it's similar enough, George! Why didn't you come to me? Did you really think I wouldn't understand or have some sympathy for what you were going through?"

The two men stared at one another for a moment and George sat back down at the table, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Sir, I…I thought I was covering up for Simon. I don't think Edna would have ever done it, but Brooks...he…he hit her. And when Simon tried to come to her defense, he hit Simon as well. Simon was trying to defend her as I should have, I just assumed that the boy snapped and well, I couldn't let him hang or rot in jail for doing what I myself would have done if I'd had the chance. I had to protect them sir, and if this was the best way, well, I had to choose and act fast, and this was my choice," George finally admitted.

George rubbed his face and ran his hands through his hair before continuing. "Tell me sir, if you had found out that Doctor Garland had been mistreating Dr. Ogden, wouldn't you have done something? Would you have really left everything up to the courts to decide, knowing Dr. Garland's wealth and standing would most likely buy him immunity, as Sgt. Brooks' war hero status undoubtedly would have done as well?"

Murdoch visibly blanched, and looked at his wife watching through the window, who had stepped back in shock. As far as he was concerned, Garland had been mistreating Julia by pressuring her to fit an ideal that she wasn't, expecting her to subvert her dreams and desires for his greater good, and finally, by toying with her emotions by refusing to grant her the divorce while running around with another woman.

Still, he knew the point George was making, and he agreed. If Garland had indeed ever laid a finger on Julia in anger, a single punch would have been the least of the doctor's concerns. "No, George, I wouldn't. I would have handled matters myself. I too, would have done whatever it took to ensure that he would never hurt her again, no matter what it cost me," Murdoch admitted, looking directly at the man and holding his gaze to show George he knew exactly why he did what he did, and there were no hard feelings on his part for having been deceived.

To be honest, he looked only at George because he was afraid to make eye contact with his wife. He knew she would undoubtedly be angry after hearing what he'd just said about her former husband.

"Chuffing hell," muttered the Inspector, this time it was his turn to get up from the table and pace the room.

Knowing that the Inspector was more than likely uncomfortable at the uncharacteristic displays of romanticism and sentimentality from both men, William steered the topic back to the question that still hadn't been answered. "George Crabtree, will you state for the record, did you kill Sgt. Archibald Brooks?"

Shaking his head, George replied in the negative, "No, sir, I did not."

"Tell us exactly what happened, buggalugs," the Inspector asked, having recovered from the unexpected display of emotion.

"After Sgt. Brooks attacked Edna the first time, I made her promise to come to me if he came back. Later that evening, she came to my apartment with Simon, he'd beaten them again, and was angry that I'd been seen talking to them. I gave them some money, and put them in a carriage to Mimico-in a lake cottage owned by a friend. Well, it didn't take Brooks long to figure out what happened, and he called me, furious for hiding his wife and son from him. He demanded to meet with me behind MacGuire's Tavern, where we could settle this like men, and I met him there at the appointed time and place-and he was there, but he was already dead. I just assumed Simon had snuck back into town and done it, and well, I panicked. I arranged for the body to be transported into the morgue, and I staged the apartment to look like a crime scene," George added.

"George, surely you knew I wasn't going to calmly let you go to the gallows? You had to have known that I would have the blood and weapon examined, that I wouldn't have let it go so easily," William replied.

George nodded. "I knew that it was likely, but I had to take a chance, buy as much time for Edna and Simon to get away.

"Why didn't you trust me George? Why didn't you tell me the truth? Why lead me on a tangent?" William wanted to know.

"Because to you sir, the truth is of the utmost importance. It's more important to you than the greater good. You wanted the truth; I wanted what was best for Edna and Simon. Those were two different goals, sir," said George.

Laughing bitterly, William considered what George had just said, and how it mirrored what Father Keegan had earlier said to him. He always thought that the truth would set one free, but apparently, that was not always the case. Laughing at himself, he asked the next question everyone wanted to know: "Well, George, if you didn't kill Archibald Brooks, and it wasn't Mrs. Brooks or Master Brooks, who did?"

Bewilderedly, George again shook his head. "I honestly don't know, sir. I wished I did. Do you think that Edna might be in danger from them as well?"

"I don't know, George. As far as I know, she's still in Mimico where I left her this afternoon. Perhaps you can call her and speak with her yourself."

Standing up, he escorted George to his office, where he called Mrs. Brooks and they mutually reassured one another of their safety and well-being. It was also agreed that she and Simon would both return to Toronto in the morning where the Toronto Constabulary would be better able to look out for their safety.

Standing outside his office to give George some privacy, Julia walked up to him, still caught off guard by what she'd heard earlier in the interrogation room.

William had always dreaded the day when Julia might find out the entire truth about his interactions with Dr. Garland as well as how he obtained the film that secured her release and acquittal for her husband's murder, and knew that the time had come.

"William, about what you said in the interrogation room…" she began.

"Julia, this is not the time or place. When we get home?" he interrupted, hoping to avoid the scene this conversation might cause.

"Very well, William. You've earned a reprieve, but not a stay. I'm going to ask again once we've returned to the suite."

William nodded. It was the best he could hope for.


	6. Chapter 6

After escorting George back to his cell (hopefully tomorrow they could convince the Crown Prosecutor to drop all charges), Julia and William rode back to the hotel in strained silence. Julia was undoubtedly upset at him, and he was dreading the coming confrontation.

Once they were upstairs, and coats had been removed and drinks poured (port for Julia, sparkling mineral water for William), they got comfortable on the couch, and the conversation began in earnest.

Taking a sip, William motioned for Julia to begin, as she was the one who wanted the whole truth-for better or for worse this time.

"Back at the station, when you were speaking to George…" she fumbled. "It seemed that you were speaking from experience, that you understood exactly what George was trying to accomplish because you had experienced it yourself. What haven't you told me, William?"

Wincing, William exhaled deeply. "Darcy may not have harmed you physically, but as I told you then, he was doing you wrong. Did he ever harm you physically?"

"No, William, he didn't. Wrong how? When you hit him, what did he do, or say?" She wasn't going to let him off so easily.

Making another face, William took another sip, wishing that it contained something stronger for once. Julia was not going to like what she was about to hear.

"He was with another woman, coming out of a hotel room with her, walking around town with her. When I confronted him about it, he called you a whore and announced his intention to string you along, to keep you as his wife while he had no intention of being an honorable, loving husband to you. I couldn't accept that, Julia. I never interfered before because I thought you loved him, that he loved you just as much or even more and was going to treat you well. When it was obvious you weren't happy, that he was mistreating you emotionally, it infuriated me, Julia. You were then and are now the loveliest person in the world to me, and I couldn't bear to see someone selfishly lay claim to you like a piece of property when you were anything but. I've never viewed you as a piece of chattel to submit to me or any other man, and I hated to see him have that expectation of you, if you must know," he finished.

"I knew about the other woman, William. He was jealous, and that was his way of rubbing it in; it was a response to the two of us going around town, kissing, holding hands, and openly being together. And all he did was call me a whore? I've been called worse, you know?" she replied, stroking his temple.

He turned into her touch and kissed her palm, holding eye contact with her.

"Oh William, you are so sweet and such a gentleman to defend my honor as you did, but I must admit, Darcy wasn't completely in the wrong. I should never have married him in the first place, he was a good man, and I cared for him, but he could never hold a candle to you. Indirectly, my actions caused his behavior, and that is my fault. I cut off my nose to spite my face as it were, and it ended up hurting all three of us."

"Perhaps, Julia, but if I'd been a better man and been more proactive, I could have stopped a lot of this from happening as well. But there's no point in beating ourselves up over past mistakes, I say we learn from them and move on; striving not to repeat them again," he finished.

"I agree, William. Now, enough about Darcy; tell me how you got the film that secured my release. Knowing James Gillies I know he didn't just hand it to you. What sacrifice did you have to make for it?" she asked.

Setting his drink down, Murdoch took hers and set it down as well, pulling her onto his lap. He needed as much contact as he could get for this next part, and relayed the game he'd played with James Gillies, as well as the deal he'd made with the deranged psychopath. He'd escaped death by mere seconds.

Once he'd finished the tale, Julia sat still for a moment before flying off his lap and storming over to the window, where she looked out at the city below.

William gave her all the space she needed. He knew she wouldn't have liked what she had just heard, which is why he'd never wanted to tell her in the first place.

After a few minutes of silence, she grabbed a pillow off of a chair and threw it at him. "I can't believe you were so selfish, William. How the hell could you have done that to me? Did you stop to think for even a moment that I wouldn't have wanted to live with that guilt? That you secured my freedom in exchange for your life? Really, William! Did you ever stop to think about what I wanted? No doubt your escapade influenced George, and by the grace of a tenacious detective he too escaped certain death. Did either of you consider that your manly bravado would have cost first myself, and then Edna dearly?" she spat.

"Well, Julia, if the tables were turned, what would you or Edna have done? Would you have also gallantly offered yourselves up for sacrifice as we did, or would you have allowed us to die, knowing you could have done something about it?" William retorted.

Julia deflated and turned back towards the window.

Standing up himself, William managed to defend his choice. "George and I were forced to make a decision with options that were less than desirable. Our choices were not great, but in the end, we both chose the lesser of two evils, Julia. If I had to do it again, I would, and I think George would as well. If you had to choose, I suspect that you would have made the same decision. I stand by my choice, Julia."

With that, William walked towards the bedroom where he removed his jacket, tossing it over a chair. Popping his collar studs and removing his cufflinks, he had just removed his tie when he was tackled from behind and pushed onto the bed, where Julia ordered him to lay on his back and place his hands above his head. He complied.

Grabbing the tie from him, she proceeded to tie his hands to the headboard (something she hadn't done since their honeymoon) and proceeded to have her way with him-something William happily submitted to.

"You're a stubborn ass, William Murdoch."

"As are you, Mrs. Murdoch. Mind you, I'm not complaining."

Snorting, she leaned in for a passionate kiss and that was the end of coherent speech for the remainder of the evening.

The next morning, she awoke to her husband pulling her into his arms along with a gentle kiss. They both enjoyed waking up with the other present and demonstrated as such to one another.

* * *

Later that same morning at the station, the Crown Prosecutor arrived and even though the evidence proving that George's fabricated evidence was tenuous and not entirely sanctioned by the court, he agreed that it would most likely cause considerable doubt amongst the judge and jury. Therefore, he agreed to drop the murder charge against George, but still insisted upon a lesser charge of conspiracy to commit fraud for misleading the Crown in their murder investigation.

It wasn't the full acquittal that the men of Station House 4 wanted, but William had to admit that it wasn't unfair, especially considering what George had done. On the upside, on account of his exemplary service record to the Constabulary, his high standing in the community, and no doubt to his rank and involvement in the Masonic Lodge, George was granted bail on his own recognizance. Upon his release, Edna and Simon were waiting for him, and George took them back home to get them resettled and clean up their apartment. He was on administrative leave pending the investigation and trial.

That night after the place had been straightened up, and Simon sent to bed, Edna got angry with George and told him off for pulling the stunt that landed him into the mess he was in, for sacrificing himself for her without her knowledge. At one point, she picked up a pillow and may have hit him with it, but George wasn't angry-he was just happy to see some of the spirit and spark of the old Edna Garrison return. Upon seeing the grin on his face once she put the pillow down, she laughed and he quickly joined in. Soon however, the laughter turned to tears, and she threw herself into his arms, crying. At this point, George promised her that his proposal still stood, whenever she was ready to act upon it, assuming that she still did.

Taking his hand, she led him into the bedroom, wherein she quietly showed him the pleasures he could look forward to on a regular basis once they were married.

* * *

While William was relieved that he had cleared George's name, and that his friend was no longer accused of premeditated murder, he was still on the hook for finding out who did kill Sgt. Archibald Brooks. In the daylight, he went to the aforementioned spot behind MacGuire's Tavern, and either the murder evidence was long gone or this wasn't the actual murder scene either, as William saw only blood from what he assumed was Archibald Brooks' body. No ballistic or trace evidence was to be found. He was searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack, and groaned when he realized what he was up against. How did one find the murderer of a man that everyone already thought of as dead? The only insight Edna Brooks could offer was that he drank at MacGuire's Tavern frequently, and that he had returned from the war a considerably different man than he had left. She hadn't had much contact with him after his return, and what little there had been was generally not of a pleasant nature.

Though he didn't feel like overexerting himself to catch the killer of a man who had beat both his wife and child, duty demanded he try to the best of his ability; that his murderer be brought to justice. Still, William didn't think this was a random act, he suspected that Sgt. Brooks' death was connected to his long disappearance, that it was too much of a coincidence. Like any good detective, William didn't believe in coincidences, and suspected something would turn up sooner or later. Thus, Brackenreid continued to press his contacts in the Army for any detail, no matter how minor, and William poured over the man's service records, searching for the one seemingly insignificant detail that would prove to be the insight he needed.

But, he wasn't prepared for who he would cross paths with next or how they chose to get his attention.

One week later, Julia had just finished up some long neglected files at the asylum and was waiting for a cab to take her back to the hotel for dinner. Without much thought, she got into the carriage and closed her eyes, decompressing from her long day.

After a while however, she realized that the ride was taking considerably longer than it should have and she looked out the window to see they were well outside the city. Banging on the roof, she demanded that they stop and turn around, but the carriage only sped up in response. After a wild and frenzied ride, the carriage came to a stop in a clearing, and Julia was truly afraid. Seizing her opportunity, Julia flung open the door, but before she could alight, an unknown man got inside the carriage, and they began moving again.

"Who are you and where are you taking me," Julia demanded.

"All in due course, Mrs. Murdoch. Or do you still go by Dr. Ogden?" the man laughed, taking a puff of his cigar.

"Again, I ask, who are you? I demand an answer, and I demand you take me home at once. My husband is with the Constabulary and won't wait long before sending out a search party. He's expecting me, and my absence will be immediately noted," she warned, arms crossed over chest, hoping it wasn't obvious how frightened she was.

"Well now, my dear Mrs. Murdoch. You really are quite the pistol, aren't you? Your husband looking for you is exactly what I hope will happen, if you must know. I've been trying to reach him for a few days now, and he won't accept nor return my calls. I figured borrowing you would be a sure fire way to get his attention and to get him to speak with me," the man explained, taking another draw on his cigar.

Julia recoiled at the man's words, and shrunk back into the corner of the carriage, trying to get as far away from the man as possible. Still, she noted, there was something familiar about the man who sat across from her.


	7. Chapter 7

Though she felt as though she had met him once before, Julia couldn't quite place the suave and arrogant man with her, calmly chewing on his cigar.

"How do you know who I am? Are you planning on killing me to get to Detective Murdoch? Again, I ask, who are you, and where are you taking me?" Julia asked, a mixture of fear and anger in her voice.

"Now, Mrs. Murdoch, how can anyone _not_ know who you are? You're quite the notorious woman with quite a colorful past. Not that I hold that against you, it makes you all the more intriguing. I must admit however, I wouldn't have pegged you as Detective Murdoch's type, but apparently he has quite the hidden alter ego if he took you as a wife and is obviously so happily married to boot. Oh, I almost forgot, congratulations, by the way," the man added before drawing on his cigar again.

"It's Dr. Ogden," she snapped. She couldn't bear for anyone else to call her by her married name; only William could call her that.

"My apologies, Dr. Ogden. I'm taking you to a secret house, and don't worry, I'll be contacting your husband quite shortly to let him know of your whereabouts and you'll be reunited with him soon. Don't do anything rash, and I assure you, you'll be reunited with your husband tonight with nary a hair touched on your pretty head" he added.

Besides his smug, evasive nature, the acrimonious smell of the cigar smoke was starting to bother Julia, but she said nothing. However the man noted her discomfiture and immediately opened a window, throwing out the offending cigar.

"Apologies again, Dr. Ogden. Forgive my obtuseness-of course you don't want to smell my cigar in this closed environment. I guess I should tell you that I work for the Canadian government and the matter I have to discuss with your husband is of the utmost importance pertaining to national security." the man apologized.

"And you felt that abducting me was a fine way to get his attention?" Julia asked.

"It's all part of the game, Dr. Ogden. Besides, I don't like being ignored, and this way, he can't ignore me, can he?" came his smug reply.

For the first time, Julia wondered if there was a significant portion to her husband's life that she didn't know about, and wondered if he hid more than a few secrets from her. But before she could contemplate this matter too much, the carriage slowed to a stop, and the man opened the door. "Remember, Dr. Ogden, don't do anything sudden or rash, and I assure you, you will leave here with your husband tonight, both of you completely unharmed," he reminded her, holding out his hand to help her descend from the carriage.

For now, Julia decided to remain calm and note her surroundings and situation. As they walked towards an isolated cottage, she tried to note any distinguishing landmarks that might identify her location, but it was obviously in a rural setting, and it was quite dark. Given that she didn't have much choice, perhaps for now she'd take his word that he meant her no harm.

Still, if an escape opportunity presented itself, she was going to take it, she thought as she was led into the cottage and into a warm, comfortable parlor.

The room was well appointed, and in the corner stood a large grandfather clock that audibly ticked away the seconds of her captivity. Looking at the clock, she saw that it was a quarter to 9 pm, and William would definitely have already noted her absence, she thought.

Standing by the fire were two other men, both well armed and meaning that Julia had no chance for escape at present. Not that she would be very successful in the middle of who knows where in the middle of the night anyway. Perhaps any attempts at escape should wait until the morning, she reasoned with herself. However, she remembered that the man had assured her that she would be released unharmed, and William would be notified of her whereabouts. She prayed that William wasn't too concerned (though she knew he would be) and that he would remain calm (doubtfully).

As soon as she was seated, the man walked over to the phone and immediately asked to be put through to Station House #4. A moment later, he asked for Detective William Murdoch, and while Julia could hear a voice on the other end of the line, she couldn't tell exactly who it was, nor make out their exact words though the mysterious man smirked as they were said.

"Oh, I'm quite aware that he's dealing with a personal emergency. I have some information regarding that very situation that I know he's going to want to hear. You'll really want to put him on the line at once, I assure you. I'll wait," the man drawled.

A few moments later another voice came over the line and this time, Julia could tell it was William.

"Detective Murdoch, you're a difficult man to reach. I've been trying to get in contact with you for several days now, and I'm hurt that you won't accept nor return my calls. But, before you hang up on me, I thought you might like to know that I've been visiting with your lovely wife here," he explained, while motioning her over to the phone.

"In fact Detective, she'd like to say hello, wouldn't you Doctor?"

"Julia! My God! Are you all right? Where are you?" a frantic William asked.

"William, I'm fine. I need you to stay calm, all right?" she reassured him.

Ironic that she was asking him to stay calm as opposed to the other way around-she was the captive!

The man took the phone from her. "I'm assuming that you'd like to see for yourself that she's unmolested and uninjured, Detective? There will be a dark green carriage waiting for you outside the front door to the station in five minutes," the man directed before a stream of the most impolite language she'd ever heard come forth from her husband interrupted him.

Laughing, the man shook his head. "Now Mr. Murdoch, that's quite the colorful language from you, I didn't know such words were even in your vocabulary; my opinion of you has just risen, Detective. Just get into the green carriage, and it will bring you straight here. I'll explain everything then. See you in an hour" he closed before disconnecting the call. He quickly made another call to an unfamiliar exchange and directed them to send a carriage over to the predetermined spot before hanging up the phone altogether.

"Now that your husband's been notified, could I interest you in something to drink? A fine scotch perhaps? I know your husband is something of a teetotaler, but I know you enjoy a nice stiff beverage, and even the occasional cigar," the man offered.

As tempted as she was, she decided that it was best to keep her wits about her. "No, thank you. Tea will suffice," she replied sitting back down on the couch. She also wondered how he knew of her occasional indulgence in tobacco or whiskey.

"Very well, Doctor. Tea it is. Andrew, could you put the kettle on for our guest?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," the shorter of the two armed men replied, and walked towards the kitchen.

"Now, Dr. Ogden. I suppose you may be wondering how I know your husband, and know so much about both of you, especially as you've already asked several times who I am. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Terrence Meyers, and I've often worked with your husband dealing with matters of national security. In fact, you may have forgotten, but we did meet several years ago when dealing with the automaton, though I forgive you if you've forgotten-there was quite a bit going on. But, back to your husband, he's a true Canadian asset, your man," Meyers explained.

For the next hour, Terrence Meyers explained as much as he could about what he did (which wasn't much), and how the Toronto Constabulary-particularly Station House #4 and William had helped avert more than one national disaster. They also spoke of various inconsequential things, and Julia realized that while he was certainly an odd duck, she was no longer frightened, and knew that the man meant her no harm. That said, she certainly didn't approve of his methods to get her husband's attention, and she hoped that William would remain calm, knowing he had a tendency of losing his temper and being prone to rash actions of violence where her safety and well being were concerned.

True to the man's word, approximately an hour after he had contacted William, Julia heard a carriage pull up outside. Standing up, Meyers walked toward the front door and waited for William to approach.

"Come in with your hands up where I can see them, Murdoch. Your wife is here, and she's untouched. But first, call off the men who have undoubtedly followed you. They can wait for you outside, and you can all return to the city together," Meyers ordered.

Julia heard William's footsteps trail off the porch, only to return a few minutes later. Meyers opened the door, "Good Evening, Detective. Thank you for joining us."

"Where is she, Meyers? So help me God if there's so much as a scratch on her, I won't hesitate to…"

"I'm right here, William." Julia said, standing up.

William pushed past Meyers and towards her, pulling her into his arms, kissing her soundly. Pushing her back slightly, he gave her the once over, determined to see for himself that his wife was unharmed.

"I'm fine, William," she reassured him. She really meant it too. She was. Odd as it may seem, Meyers had been a gentleman, and was clearly well bred, his manners nearly impeccable. He'd treated her like a guest as opposed to a prisoner.

Gathering her in his arms again and holding her to him for a moment, he buried his face in her hair before releasing her again. "All right, Meyers. You have my attention now, but I'm sending my wife back to the city first," William argued.

"I'm not leaving without you, William. I refuse to do so," Julia interjected. She meant it too.

Exasperated, William rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.

"Actually, I wanted to speak with you both at the same time. Find out what you both know," the man countered, gesturing for them to have a seat on the couch behind them.

Having a seat on the couch, William pulled her close to him-closer even than propriety dictated or typically allowed, but she knew he wanted to be reassured by her presence. He grabbed her hand, and held it. While uncomfortable at the display of affection in front of the three strange men, Julia allowed it, knowing that it was probably the only thing keeping her husband calm.

As it was, judging by the nervous tic in his jaw, he was probably barely holding it together even then.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Meyers offered.

"No, thank you. Ask me what it is you want to know and please allow my wife and I to leave." William replied.

"Very well, detective. It's come to my attention that both of you have been investigating the death of a Sgt. Archibald Brooks recently."

"Yes, one of our closest friends was erroneously charged with that crime, but we thankfully got most of the charges dropped." Julia answered.

"You're still investigating the case, correct? Still looking for the real perpetrator?" Meyers asked, lighting another cigar and offering one to Julia, who politely declined.

"Yes, we've been trying to speak with his commanders and fellow soldiers in his unit, I believe that his murder had something to do with his presumed death and disappearance, but you already know about that, don't you?" William stated.

"Indeed, I do," Meyers shrugged, taking a sip of his fine single malt scotch that he had just poured himself.

"What do you know, Meyers?" Murdoch demanded.

"Dr. Ogden, I trust that you understand that what you're about to hear is a matter of national security, and cannot be repeated outside this room?" Meyers asked her.

William looked at her and squeezed her hand. "Yes, Mr. Meyers, I understand," she replied.

"Very well, he was working for us and unfortunately, he became a double agent for us and the Boers. He also stole a large sum of money and escaped our sights. Luckily for us, he was none too bright and returned home to Toronto, where we dealt with the matter."

Julia was shocked at how insouciantly he mentioned a man's murder, seemingly unconcerned.

William however, didn't seem too fazed by the man's words, and laughed.

"Surely you weren't planning on letting an innocent man hang for those crimes, were you?" William demanded, anger in his voice.

"Not at all, Detective. We weren't expecting Constable Crabtree to hoist himself on his own petard as it were, and once we realized what was happening, you had already cleared him of suspicion. Of course, once we discovered how Sgt. Brooks was treating his family, and who he was associating with, we knew that he was a loose cannon that must immediately and swiftly be dealt with. We were worried about what else he might have been up to, and as it turns out, quite a bit: Sgt. Brooks also had contacts with some organized crime organizations, and it was at this point that he was considered a very real and grave threat to national security. Therefore, the problem was eliminated."

Julia sat in stunned silence. Had Meyers just described a man as a problem to be eliminated so nonchalantly? That meant that he had no problem with disposing of her and William just as easily, and with that, her worry returned in full force.

Apparently the look of fright on her face was readily apparent, as Meyers immediately reassured her, "Fear not, Dr. Ogden. I assure you that you and your husband will leave here shortly, completely in one piece. Brooks was not an honorable man and was a very real threat not only to his family but also the country. Removing problem spies is all a part of the spy game, I assure you."

"What do you want, Meyers? Why did you tell us all of this so readily?" Murdoch asked.

"For you to desist in your investigations, of course. Sgt. Archibald Brooks was declared dead a year ago following the Battle of Leliefontein, and neither the Canadian government nor the British Army see any point in rescinding that declaration to simply redeclare him as deceased. His widow and son will continue to receive his survivor's benefits, lest they be thrown into penury," he added with a flourish, as though he were quite pleased with himself.

"I can't ignore a man's murder, Meyers. I owe it to the people of Toronto to solve his murder, I must…"

"Murdoch, you can't solve a murder for a man who was already dead. One must be alive to be murdered, and Sgt. Brooks died a year ago. Not even you are that good, Detective," Meyers cheekily added.

Releasing her hand and abruptly standing up, William paced over to the window, looking out into the inky night. Julia saw his shoulders sag for a moment before turning around, disgust writ clearly on his face.

"I will desist in my investigation on one condition, Meyers. I want you to arrange for all remaining charges against George Crabtree to be dropped by the Crown Prosecutor. It's hardly fair for him to be tried for conspiracy to commit fraud in regards to a murder that never happened," William bargained.

Meyers cocked his head to the side and looked contemplative for a brief moment before shrugging and nodding. "I suppose not. Done," he replied, punctuating his words with a flourish of his cigar. "I'll contact the Crown Prosecutor's office first thing tomorrow morning, Murdoch. I give you my word," the man agreed, holding out his hand.

Grimacing, Murdoch took Meyers hand, and shook on the bargain.

"And now Detective, I'll bid you and your beautiful bride goodnight. You've got quite the trek back to the city in front of you, and it's already quite late. Of course, there's a room for you here should you so desire," he graciously offered.

"No, thank you, Mr. Meyers. We'll be leaving now. Good night," William said, grabbing her hand and quickly leaving the cottage with her in tow. As they stepped outside, Inspector Brackenreid stepped out of a waiting carriage and helped Julia into her seat.

"I'll give you a few minutes of privacy, Murdoch," the Inspector told William, who soon followed her into the carriage. Sitting next to her, he wordlessly took her face in his hands and fervently kissed her, this time showing no restraint as he thrust his tongue into her mouth and nipped at her lip, demanding her full participation, which she happily gave.

"Oh, Julia…" he breathlessly murmured, "you gave me quite the fright tonight my wife," he confessed. "I was so scared."

"I'm fine, William. Meyers was a perfect gentleman and I was treated well," Julia reassured him.

Nodding, William leaned in for another kiss. "Thank God for that."

Laughing, she stroked the worry from his brow and took him into her arms, laying his head on her bosom and stroking his hair; feeling the stress dissipate as she did so.

"What I don't understand, William, is why did Meyers resort to kidnapping me if he wanted to talk to both of us. Why didn't he just come over unannounced to the hotel, particularly if you were ignoring him, and he needed to talk to us that much?" she wondered.

"Because Meyers enjoys the game, Julia. Why do things simply when you can do them dramatically, I suppose." Murdoch answered.

"Seems convoluted, William. I can't imagine why would anyone want to make things more difficult for themselves" Julia concluded.

"And that my darling wife, is why we'll never make good spies. We're too direct." William supplied.

"Thank God for that," Julia giggled.

Laughing softly, William took her lips in another kiss. "Perhaps we can finish this reunion later, milady? It's getting quite late."

Julia laughed, "Indeed," she replied.

William opened the door and called out for the Inspector, who soon joined them in the carriage, where William and Julia filled him in on the latest events and details. After a while, the carriage drifted into a companionable silence and Julia laid her head on William's shoulder, and he put his arm around her, pulling her in closer and laying his own head upon hers.


	8. Chapter 8-Epilogue

As they approached the city, Julia voiced the concern that had been nagging at her most of the evening. "So this Mr. Meyers is a spy. What I don't understand is how did he know all of those things about me? I'd met him once years ago, yet he knew things about me that I'm not even sure William knows-like I have occasionally enjoyed a good cigar and whiskey," she stated, staring at the Inspector and daring him to make a comment about her unladylike behavior.

This revelation must have been no surprise to the man or he truly didn't care as he looked and laughed at William's stunned expression. Julia realized that she had never mentioned those details to her husband, but conceded that she hadn't had much cause to do so, as they were only occasional indulgences. So occasional in fact, she was stunned that Meyers knew that particular detail.

"Because he's a bloody spy, doctor," the Inspector scoffed. "They're like ghosts, haunting your every move and compiling information on your most intimate details. Damned spooky, if you ask me, perhaps we should start calling them spooks!" he replied, seeming quite pleased at his new turn of phrase.

Julia had to admit that it was an apt description and admitted as much to the Inspector.

Turning to her husband to explain that it wasn't a secret so much as rare indulgence, she stopped when she saw the look of pure hatred on his face. Getting angry herself, she explained. "William, it's not a secret-they're something I enjoy so rarely I didn't even think about it, I…" she began.

Holding up a hand, he interrupted her. "I don't care about the occasional vice, Julia. But how did Meyers know that? How long has he been collecting information on you, Julia?" he asked in a low voice, more to himself than her or the Inspector.

Julia's blood ran cold at the realization and immediately shared William's anger.

Across the carriage she could hear the Inspector; "Christ," he muttered before looking out the window himself.

William's grip on her hand intensified as he pulled her closer.

* * *

Though it was well past midnight when they finally walked into their suite, it was even later once they finally went to sleep. Even though she'd only been missing for hours, William needed to reassure himself of her safety and well being, and with her encouragement, William was particularly bold in his lovemaking this time, and it was her turn to be tied to the headboard with one of his ties, and for William to "have his way with her". She had been somewhat concerned that being restrained might bring back particularly unpleasant memories, but as this time was with William, the man she trusted with every ounce of her being, she exulted in being his captive and subject to his whims-which just so happened to coincide nicely with her own.

Afterwards as she lay in his arms and he stroked her bare back, she'd never felt more content or closer to her man. There was nothing she couldn't trust him with, she realized, snuggling deeper into his embrace and placing soft kisses along his equally bare chest, gently tugging at his nipple with her teeth and then blowing on it. He shuddered and wrapped his leg over both of hers, cocooning her.

* * *

True to his word (oddly enough), Meyers had indeed contacted the Crown Prosecutor's office the following morning, and arranged for all remaining charges against George Crabtree to be dismissed. Despite there being no formal charges, the Constabulary decided against promoting George to detective of Station House #3, and he was to remain in his current position as a Constable at Station House #4. However, given his excellent reputation, his high standing in the community, and his membership in the Masonic Lodge, he was encouraged to apply and be considered for future promotions. George was disappointed, but he had to admit that it was more than fair and that he could have fared much worse.

While happy for George that he wasn't going to face too much punishment for his altruistic if misguided actions, Julia couldn't help but feel angry that William hadn't been shown that same level of forgiveness for a similar misdeed or considered for any promotions of his own. She said as much to her husband one evening at dinner after he had told her of George's "punishment".

"Though I am indeed fortunate that Inspector Brackenreid and George are good, honorable men, they're still part of the preferred class, Julia. Both are Protestant as well as members of the Masonic Lodge. I'm not Julia, I'm Catholic, and therefore one rung above women on the ladder of hierarchy," he explained with a shrug and a smirk to let her know that he was expressing the opinion of his Constabulary bosses, and certainly not his own.

"What a load of bollocks," Julia replied.

"Julia!"

"I'm serious, William. Just because of the gender they were born and the religion in which they were raised, they're more capable of leading and making decisions than others? Some of them are as useful as a fart in bed!" she stated, throwing down her napkin and pushing her chair back from the table. She was done with dinner.

Figuring that perhaps he could do with a bit less dinner lest his suits cease fitting altogether, William called for the dishes to be cleared before joining her at the window, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing her temple.

"Such foul language, Mrs. Murdoch. Surely you know better than to speak like a man-it's most unbecoming," he murmured in her ear, amusement evident in his voice.

Snorting, she turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him. "I also kiss my husband with that same mouth," she murmured in return.

"Shocking, absolutely scandalous! Does your husband know that his wife is so ill-bred and indelicate?" he teased.

"Oh, if he thinks this is indelicate, he's in for quite surprise," she replied.

"He eagerly awaits this demonstration-apparently he is one of those depraved papists who is also quite sexually repressed. His domineering wife supposedly reminds him of the nuns who frequently punished him for his transgressions when he was a school boy in short pants," he stated in mock seriousness.

She couldn't help but laugh out loud at his last comment and kissed him, delighted at his humor that was definitely serving to lighten the mood. "Does the thought of nuns habits and rods excite my husband," she asked half-jokingly. To be perfectly honest, she was somewhat concerned that it might.

Laughing out loud, he cupped her face with his hand. "I can assure you it does not. Provocative French corsets and lingerie paired with bow and arrow on the other hand, most certainly do excite me."

"But I don't have my bow and arrow here," she said as his hands found the clasp on her skirt and deftly undid it, her skirt dropping to the floor. Quickly, his hands made equally fast work of her blouse, which soon joined her skirt.

Picking her up, he carried her to the side table where he had taken her the night George was arrested for murder. "I think we'll manage this time," he answered as he divested himself of his own clothes before devouring her neck with his teeth and lips. Just as she did last time, she happily abandoned herself to his attentions.

* * *

A few weeks later and deciding that she would surprise him for lunch, Julia arrived to find William, Inspector Brackenreid, George Crabtree and Edna Brooks all talking in the Inspector's office each with scotch in hand-save for Edna who sipped a cup of tea. Seeing her standing outside, the Inspector motioned her in, gesturing to Murdoch to pour a drink for his wife. Taking the glass, Julia asked what they were drinking to.

"It seems that Crabtree is taking the afternoon off to go to the courthouse and get hitched," the Inspector explained.

"Constable, that's wonderful news!" Julia exclaimed. She was truly happy for the couple.

"Are you free this afternoon, Doctor? We would love for you and the detective as well as the Inspector and Mrs. Brackenreid serve as our witnesses," George asked.

"I will clear my schedule at once!" Julia replied gesturing at the phone in William's office.

As she was leaving, she could hear the Inspector comment to the bridegroom "Not wasting any time, buggalugs. I like that."

"Well, uh, that's the other part of the announcement we have to make, sir," George confessed, blushing. "There's a reason we're not waiting for a large church wedding sir, it would take too much time, and…" he trailed off.

"George!" Edna chastised.

"Well, they were going to figure it out sooner or later" George exclaimed.

Laughing even harder than he was previously, the Inspector pounded George on the back, causing the young man to spill some of his drink.

"Well done, Crabtree. Making up for all sorts of lost time, aren't you?" he praised George.

"Oh, my, George. Congratulations, indeed." William said stunned. Though there was a smile on his face, Julia did not miss how it failed to travel to his eyes. She had a feeling that discussions involving children were going feature in her and William's lives soon, and not for the first time, she despaired at her inability to provide William with the family she knew he would never dare admit to still dreaming of.

Offering her own quiet congratulations, she slipped out of the office to phone the asylum and clear her schedule for the afternoon. No one noticed, as William was undoubtedly brooding about children of his own given his current contemplative expression, while the Inspector was too busy teasing the bright red George Crabtree. To her credit, even Edna seemed amused at George's reaction.

Not for the first time, Julia pushed down the longing that had never quite completely went away and picked up the phone. Glancing at her husband across the bullpen, she feared that she sensed clouds on the horizon for their relationship.

Nothing was ever easy for them for very long.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who submitted reviews-your words were very kind and inspiring. Thanks for your words of encouragement-they really meant a lot to me as I wrote my first lengthy piece. I don't know if George will marry Edna, but I sure hope he does (love how he's a man with Edna), and since this is my fic, why not? :)


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